


not really into hesitation

by daisyrachel



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, lots of him missing selina, she's honestly not in it that much but she's ever present in his heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyrachel/pseuds/daisyrachel
Summary: in short; bruce wayne decides without selina and alfred, it might be time to take his vigilantism to the next level. (post gotham s4 finale)





	not really into hesitation

**Author's Note:**

> gd. so this started the night of the finale because i was broken up over the ending and how beautiful it was, and over a month and a half it grew into.... this. enjoy!

Bruce doesn’t know how he knows that the light is for him. But it is. He can tell.

 

He gets to the rooftop, the rooftop of the GCPD and he sees Detective, no, _Captain_ Gordon. Captain Gordon. No matter how many times he thinks it, it still doesn’t feel right. A Captain wouldn’t have shot Mario Pepper on a loose lead. A Captain wouldn’t have promised to spend his days on the force solving one murder, as a personal favor.

 

A Captain wouldn’t have just given him the green light to vigilantism.

 

“There is light,” Gordon said. The two of them stood out, looking across the city, the light still beaming out.

 

A beacon, rather, calling for him.

 

“Yes,” Bruce responded, “and sometimes we have to make it ourselves.”

 

+

 

The first time Bruce ever punched someone, it was his bully. He punched Alfred, in training, Selina on the arm jokingly. He punched criminals on the street, bouncers who wouldn’t let him into bars, guys who tried to make out with his friends while they were sleeping. All in all he punched people a lot, or at least since his parents died.

 

The first time he ever pummels someone is the first time he runs into one of Jeremiah’s henchmen after he talks with Gordon. He can feel the indent he’s made on the man’s bones, and pushes his knuckles into the other man’s chest again.

 

“Please!” he cries, his mouth bright red. Could be blood, could be clown lipstick. Bruce is never able to tell. “I could give you information!”

 

Bruce sighs. “I don’t want information,” he says, “I want Jeremiah.”

 

The ghoul smiles. “Then let me bring you to him!”

 

“No,” says Bruce, shoulders tensed, “you’re just gonna tell him that I’m coming.” He punches the man again.

 

+

 

On a good day, he gets on the phone with Alfred. There’s not a lot of time between paying to rebuild the city and fighting people at night. Not that he’d let Alfred know the last part, so he starts pretending rebuilding a city is way more work than it actually is.

 

“Bloody hell,” says Alfred over the phone, “how long were you in meetings for today?”

 

“Seven hours!” Bruce cries back. It had been three. “And they only let me eat lunch for fifteen” forty-five “minutes!”

 

“Jesus Christ. You’re a child! Why have you got to be in charge of all this?”

 

Bruce laughs. “Because I’m the only one in Gotham left with enough money to do it?”

 

Alfred heaves out a sigh. “Right you are, Master B. But when I get back in time for your half birthday I’m making you a bloody cake and then you’re not allowed to do anything for three months.”

 

“If you say so Alfred. How are you doing?”

 

“Ask what you want to, Bruce.”

 

Bruce scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean? Can’t a boy care about his butler?” Alfred pauses expectantly before Bruce gives in. “Okay, how is she?”

 

“Still asleep, but they think she’ll wake up any day now. And don’t worry Master B, as much as I want to come back for your half birthday, I’m not coming back without her.”

 

Bruce smiles to himself. “Okay,” he says, “so _now_ how are you.”

 

“It’s insane here,” says Alfred. “You would not _believe_ the kind of freaks that frequently save the mainland. There’s an alien boy, a kid who runs like lightning, someone who may be a for real Greek Goddess…”

 

+

 

Bruce finally has to learn to cook for himself.

 

He tries to make pancakes and it’s going pretty well actually, thank you very much. He got the recipe perfectly, he’s pretty sure. He wanted to make more than one, so he put the tin separators on each layer, seven eggs and four cups of flour total, and he shoves it in the oven to cook for sixty minutes. After all, you make a pancake just like a cake, but in a pan right?

 

Bruce has never been more wrong. Sixty minutes later Harvey Bullock escorts him out of Wayne manor.

 

It’s cold out. He’s got soot on his face, he’s in a tank top and boxers. The press is everywhere. He hates the way Bullock is laughing at him.

 

“Cake in a pan!” the man exclaims. “I have not heard something that good in a _while_. You really don’t know how to make pancakes?”

 

“Clearly,” Bruce says through chattering teeth, “I do not.”

 

The formality makes Bullock begin guffawing again. “You really are a rich brat, aren’t you? Jesus, this is gonna cheer Jim up _so_ much.”

 

The next morning, he’s the headline of the Gotham Gazette’s gossip section. The headline reads “Rich Brats: They’re not like you!”

 

+

 

When Freeze kidnaps him, he’s tired. He’s really, truly tired. The man came to his house at one in the morning, woke him up, and knocked him out. What was the point of waking him up if he was just going to knock him out again?

 

“Your company, Mr. Wayne,” he said, “owes me a rather large severance pays.”

 

Bruce’s feet are frozen to the ground, his arms dangling helplessly at his sides. “Dude,” he says, “I don’t super have a lot of money to spare right now. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m trying to rebuild Gotham City?”

 

Freeze laughs. “Just give me the money, Wayne,” he says, firing up the cold blaster. “It’ll make everything a lot easier.”

 

“GCPD! Come out with your hands up!” Bruce sighs. Thank god the police were here, and it was the competent ones too. The cuffed Freeze, thawed out his feet and escorted him out of the building.

 

Ten magazines take pictures of his bare feet. The local tabloids had really started to run with the “Rich Brat” shtick, to the point where he was becoming Gotham’s kind of dumb son.

 

Detective Harper held his back straight. “Keep walking quickly,” she said, “the more pictures they get of your feet, the more money they’ll make online.” Bruce shuddered.

 

+

 

It’s the fourth Jeremiah crony he beats up that reveals there’s a rebellious sect within them. “I’ve never been loyal to Jeremiah!” he shrieks, trying to roll away from Bruce’s fist. “The Cult of Jerome lives on!”

 

“That’s not new,” says Bruce, his fist finally meeting the man’s face, “you’ve always been a cult.”

 

“There are few of us,” the man gasps out, “nay, _many_ of us who don’t approve of Jeremiah’s methods. We miss the partying! The insanity! The _drinking_!”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Bruce says, “You’re one insane son of a bitch, you know that, right?”

 

The man laughs, and Bruce hears the sirens. “Shit, shit, shit,” he begins to mutter under his breath, tying the man to the trash can as quickly as he can so he doesn’t escape.

 

He stands to greet the police officer making their way out of the vehicle. It’s probably some beat cop that has no reason to arrest Bruce Wayne in an alley, which is an upside. The downside will be if the dude asks for a selfie.

 

Captain Gordon steps out of the car, staring Bruce down disappointingly. Bruce sighs exasperatedly, looks up at the sky, and yells “Fuck!”

 

+

 

Gordon slams his fist on the table. “What in the _hell_ were you thinking Bruce!”

 

“I was doing what you told me to do?” Gordon looks at him quizzically, and Bruce’s mouth lets out a small oh. “So that night on the roof, you weren’t giving me permission to be a vigilante?”

 

“Of course not, you dumbass!”

 

“Language, Captain!” Gordon glares at him. “Okay, never mind.”

 

Gordon points a finger at him. “I will let you go,” he says, “on one condition.”

 

“I promise to donate one million dollars to renovation of the GCPD headquarters,” Bruce says, beginning to stand, “so now I’ll be on my way—“ Gordon holds onto his shoulder and sits him back down. “Okay,” says Bruce, “then what do you want from me?”

 

Gordon glares— he’s been getting really good at that lately, it may be a side product of the Captain title— and says “I want you off the streets.”

 

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Gordon raises an eyebrow. “Come on, you need me out there! Just tonight I found out that there’s a mini-revolution in Jeremiah’s following!”

 

“I know,” said Jim, sighing, “you told us already, the Cult of—“

 

“The Cult of Jerome! And you never would have known that if it weren’t for me! You need someone out there who you know won’t push the limits of morality but isn’t afraid to break some laws to get information. You _need_ me on the street, and you know it.”

 

Gordon opened his mouth to speak and quickly closed it. He raised his pointing finger and then lowered it. “I will let you stay on the streets,” he said, “under _one_ condition.”

 

“Consider the check already written.”

 

“Not that, dumbass,” says Gordon. “You’re gonna lean into the whole ‘Rich Brat’ thing, and you’re gonna make it believable. You’re gonna be loveable to the whole city. They’re gonna want to adopt you. They need a morale boost, and you’re it Bruce. We’re gonna make you the son of Gotham.”

 

Bruce groaned, tilting his head back. “I hate that phrasing. The last time someone called me that I almost died. I really hate that phrasing.”

 

Jim smiled. “And the one million dollars.”

 

+

 

So Bruce starts to lean into the ‘”Rich Brat” thing and he quickly becomes Gotham’s Most Lovable Idiot, which is tougher than it may seem. The city has a lot of idiots. He still goes fighting at nights now, but his days are full of meetings and trying to smile at all the paparazzi outside his home.

 

“I’m a propaganda piece,” he says, spread over the couch in the study. “Alfred, what do you do when you become propaganda?”

 

“I dunno mate,” the older man replies, “enjoy it, I suppose?” Bruce groans. “Well sorry if that’s not the answer you wanted!”

 

“Never mind that,” says Bruce, “how’s Selina doing?”

 

Alfred pauses. “She’s still not awake,” he says, “but she’s still stable, which is very good. They’ve tried to rouse her twice, and they’re trying a third time this afternoon. I don’t know when we’ll be back, Master B.”

 

+

 

It isn’t long before Bruce, Gotham’s beloved, gets himself kidnapped again. The freaking _vampire_ had just showed up out of nowhere, and now he was in a cocoon. Did bats even cocoon?

 

It turns out the vampire’s plan was to turn everyone in Gotham City into bats. But if he started with Bruce Wayne, of course, they would all follow willingly. ”And then,” the vampire exclaims, “Man Bat will rule the skies of Gotham!”

 

Bruce is upside down and tries to spit on the top of the vampire’s head. It doesn’t work. He settles for an “I hope a plane hits you.”

 

Luckily, the GCPD shows up. Bullock and Harper are there, and it takes all of three seconds before Bullock is rolling on the ground.

 

“Harper,” Bruce says, beginning to spin, “please help me.”

 

Bullock is tearful with laughter. “Harper, you gotta let me take a picture of the kid. You _know_ Jim is having a rough week and this kind of shit would cheer him right up.”

 

Harper pursed her lips. “That’s highly unprofessional.”

 

“We’ll call it evidence! It’s for police purposes!”

 

Bruce looks at Detective Harper with pleading eyes, and she responds with a non-committal shrug. “Do what you must, Detective Bullock.” Bruce groans as Bullock begins to snap pictures. “But I swear, if any of those end up in the Gotham Gazette tomorrow—“

 

“Yeah, yeah,” says Bullock, “I gotcha, no press.”

 

The headline of the gossip section the next morning is title “Gotham’s Most Lovable, Kidnapped Again: When Will He Learn?” But there is one positive thing about this whole encounter.

 

The next evening, the Bat-Man hits the streets for the first time.

 

+

 

“God _damn it_ , Bruce,” says Captain Gordon, slamming down the newspaper. “What did we say about being a vigilante?”

 

“That I could be if I made sure to stay on the gossip page,” says Bruce, grabbing the paper and beginning to flip through the pages. “Look there I am, I made three out of seven headlines. I wasn’t even at that basketball game.”

 

Gordon snatches the paper back and turns it to the front. The headline reads “The Batman: Gotham’s Dark Knight or Knightmare?”

 

“Damn,” says Bruce, “I kind of wanted the name to be hyphenated.”

 

“You _stole_ your vigilante name,” seethes Gordon, “from a _criminal_. I told you that you are to do _one_ thing in the public eye. _One_ thing! The whole point of you being a vigilante was to stay in the shadows!”

 

Bruce looks Gordon dead in the eyes. “That’s not me.”

 

Gordon looks at Bruce, down to the paper, and then back up to Bruce. “God _damn_ it.”

 

+

 

Bruce isn’t always beating up Jeremiah’s goons, of course. There’s a genuine amount of trash on the Gotham streets, and not of the litter variety.

 

The first time he’s almost found out, it’s the Riddler, newly brought back to life and trying to earn his way back into the heart of the Penguin. He’s beating up on one of Penguin’s goons in the alley when he feels a shock at the back of his next, and next thing he knows he’s waking up on a couch in the back of the Iceberg lounge.

 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Oswald!” Edward is yelling. Why is he yelling? Bruce groans as he opens his eyes. “I swear he was wearing the mask with the ears and everything!”

 

“Shut _up_ , Edward!” Bruce blinks. “Shh, he’s awake!”

 

Bruce puts on his best innocent dummy voice and croaks out a “Mr. Penguin? What am I doing here?” He’s thinking of all the things he could say to get out of being caught red-handed. Amnesia?

 

“Mr. Wayne!” Oswald says. “My dear friend. I am _so_ sorry about this evening. If only I had received your RSVP this never would have happened.”

 

RSVP? “Halloween,” Bruce breathes out, laughing a little, “Is a night of mistaken identities.”

 

Oswald smiles, glad for Bruce seeing the humor in the situation. “My associate here,” he says, gesturing to Edward, “Thought you were the Batman, come to raid the lounge.”

 

Bruce laughs. “Me? The Batman?” he says. “Why, I’m only eighteen. I thought it would be a rather funny costume, considering we share the headlines so much.”

 

Edward steps forward. “Please forgive me, Mr. Wayne,” he says, “I am so sorry for my mistake. If there’s _anything_ I can do—“

 

“Well I would rather like to join the party,” says Bruce, flashing one of his trademark grins. He turns his gaze to Penguin. “And I know I’m underage, but perhaps my ID—“

 

“Consider it done,” says Oswald, nodding furiously. “If anyone attempts to card you, you tell them you have the Arctic package. And that goes for anytime, not only tonight.”

 

“Wonderful!” Bruce says, spreading his arms apart and standing to move towards them. He gives them a hug, feeling their worry melt into ease. “Let’s have a fun evening, shall we?”

 

+

 

Bruce rolls his eyes and slumps further back in his chair. _Prep school was hell_ , he thought, _but nothing could have compared me for business_. Shockingly, people seemed to have forgotten that he dropped out of school around eighth grade, and kept expecting him to know things.

 

“Mr. Wayne,” someone says, snapping their fingers, “Mr. Wayne?”

 

Bruce jolts upright. “Yes?”

 

The man— Kevin? Klive?— says, “I think you fell asleep, sir.”

 

“Ah,” says Bruce, smiling, “it appears I did. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t get too much sleep last night.”

 

The man rolls his eyes, thinking he’s being subtle. “I see, sir.” Surely he believes that Bruce was out partying all night. “Not to overstep, but I think we would all prefer if your personal life did not interfere with your business.

 

Bruce grits his teeth into a grin. “No, of course not!” he says. He was up until three in the morning haggling with the Metropolis doctor’s about Selina’s medical bill and keeping her on life support. But he was going to let them keep believing whatever they wanted, because that’s what they needed.

 

+

 

He runs into Ivy in an alleyway one night. Not adult Ivy, or even evolved adult Ivy, but Ivy as he’d first met her years ago. She’s retained her plant powers it seems, but she’s back to being a fifteen-year-old.

 

He slides off the mask and approaches her, hoping, _praying_ , she wasn’t what he was called here to stop. She hugs him, clearly more comfortable with herself now that her body’s age matched her minds, but still the socially awkward child he knew.

 

“So,” he says, “you heard about anything weird happening in this alley? Screaming? Manic laughter?”

 

Ivy looks in both directions, seeming stressed. It’s another familiar action that tugs at Bruce’s heart strings, making him wish Selina was there to roll her eyes at whatever Ivy was scared of. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” she asks.

 

Bruce hesitates for a moment, thinking it over. “I promise,” he decides, actually meaning it. Ivy pulls away a trashcan to reveal a hole in the wall, where a blonde girl who can’t be more than year younger than her is sitting with a terrified expression on her face.

 

Bruce looks at her, his eyes searching for an explanation. “It’s okay to come out, H,” Ivy says, “he’s good people.”

 

H crawls out of the wall and introduces herself in a squeaky voice. “Harleen Quinzel,” she says, stretching out her arm, “pleased to meet ya!”

 

Bruce takes her hand and returns the formality. “Bruce Wayne,” he says, “and likewise, of course.”

 

Harleen’s eyes widen. “ _The_ Bruce Wayne?” Her head swivels back to Ivy. “Red, you didn’t tell me you had friends in such high places!”

 

Ivy looks lost for a moment, until Bruce realizes it was because she wasn’t sure if they were friends or not. Bruce quickly swoops in. “We jut haven’t seen each other for a while, but Ivy knows that if she ever needs anything she can come stay with me.”

 

Ivy’s face settles into a soft smile as she nods. “H’s parents are Jeremiah goons,” she says, “specifically Cult of Jerome. A few months ago, H got freaked and ran away. I found her in the Narrows, decided to help her out.” Bruce nods, smiling.

 

Harleen begins to complain about her hunger, and Bruce walks around the corner to buy ten pizzas. Harleen’s eyes grow wide again and her face splits into a grin. Two hours and four pies later, Harleen is passed out, her head in Ivy’s lap, as Ivy mindlessly strokes the younger girl’s hair.

 

He looks at Ivy, really looks at her, and says, “Selina would be proud of you, you know.”

 

Ivy looks back at him, a little sad. “If that’s true,” she responds, “then why hasn’t she called back?”

 

Bruce opens his mouth to answer, and realizes he can’t say anything. He chokes out a sob, and Ivy quickly lays Harleen’s head to rest on the ground to wrap him in an embrace. “It’s okay, Bruce,” she says, “It’s okay.”

 

“She’s not dead,” he says, “she’s not. Just sick. And it doesn’t look great.” Ivy nods at him, and he is amazed at how much this little girl has grown, how strong she has become for both of them. “It’s cold tonight,” he says, and it is. The crisp mid-November air had started to infect Gotham the way it always did, possibly the city’s one constant. “Stay at the manor?”

 

+

 

About a week later, when Ivy and Harleen have left, he makes a public appearance again for the first time. The gossip section of the Gazette has an entire column dedicated to him now: “Wayne Watch”. Gordon doesn’t want the public to think he died, so he goes to a gala.

 

He socializes normally, keeping up the rich brat attitude while appearing to rein it in for a more formal setting. He runs into some people he knew from prep school, but eventually steals a bottle of champagne and sneaks into the kitchen to drink it alone.

 

Silver St. Cloud has already beaten him there.

 

“What,” he says, pointing the bottle at her, “are you doing here.”

 

For her part, she looks just as shocked to see him drunk as he is to see her at all. “I,” she begins, stuttering, “My aunt Tabby brought me back. She needs help running the bar for a bit.”

 

“Ah,” says Bruce smiling, “so you’re the Selina replacement.”

 

Something that looks like genuine sympathy passes over Silver’s face. “I heard, Bruce,” she says, “and I’m so sorry—“

 

“I don’t care,” he interrupts, “what your dumb aunt thinks. Everyone else can give up on her, but I won’t.”

 

She smiles at him, sadly and softly. She sits next to him, and leans his head onto her shoulder. “It’s only temporary Bruce,” she says, “I promise.”

 

+

 

He finds himself trapped by a crocodile in the sewer. It’s December and it’s cold underneath the city. Shockingly, he’s upside down again, and he’s being lowered into toxic sewer dump.

 

“So,” he says, trying to make some pleasant conversation with his captor until the GCPD shows up, “I always thought the whole ‘crocodiles in the sewer’ thing was just an urban myth. How crazy is that?”

 

The crocodile sneers at him, not saying a word. He feels his hair begin t touch the water. “Ah, man!” he says. “This haircut cost me like two hundred bucks!”

 

The crocodile’s mouth opens. “You have _got_ to be kidding me,” the creature mutters.

 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” asks Bruce, feeling a little cocky now that he is still rather than lowering.

 

“You have so much money,” says the crocodile, “why do you care?”

 

Bruce smiles sweetly, “Well,” he says, “my parents always taught me not to be wasteful. ‘Yes Bruce, you have a lot, but it doesn’t make you better. You have to give back just like everybody else does.’ You know, the usual parent stuff but it sticks with you.

 

The crocodile snorts. “Your parents sounds like good people.” Realizing his mistake, his laugh quickly turns into a grimace. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

 

“Relax, dude,” Bruce says, “it’s all good.” Bruce lets his arm fall and feels his hand dip into the sewage and remembers it is most definitely _not_ all good.

 

“You know,” says the crocodile, “I’ve heard you’re using your money to fix up Gotham. That true?”

 

“Yeah, someone’s got to.”

 

The crocodile lets his eyes skit around. “Do you mind, like, avoiding this particular tunnel for train expansion? It’s just, you know, my home and all.”

 

“Of course!” says Bruce. “I’m fighting like, super hard to avoid any sort of gentrification while we’re rebuilding.”

 

“Oh, okay,” says the crocodile, moving towards Bruce, “phew.” He starts untying the rope around Bruce’s legs, letting him fall into the water when he’s finally loose. “You’re free to go!”

 

Bruce holds his arms out limply, now covered in sewage. “Thank you very much, sir,” he says, attempting not to gag at his own smell. “Much appreciated. Consider your tunnel safe.”

 

+

 

He brings it into the meeting. He’s met with laughter.

 

They stop laughing and sign quickly when he threatens to defund the entire project.

 

+

 

He’s on the phone with Alfred, and they’re discussing Gotham’s latest developments. He tells Alfred about the crocodile man, and Alfred is, understandably, worried. “What do you mean, you were in a sewer?”

 

“It’s exactly what it sounds like, Alfred.” The boy shook his head and smiled. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

 

Alfred coughed over the phone, stuttering out a response. “Well, y-yes, same to you I suppose, Master B.” He pauses a moment and then asks, “what are the notes for this week?”

 

“Oh!” Bruce smiles and rummages around the library. “I know that notebook is somewhere…”

 

“Don’t worry sir, you have all the time you need.”

 

Bruce grins in triumph when he finds the legal pad. “Aha! Okay, so here’s what she’s missed. New Girl ended; it was really cute, Nick and Jess getting married was sweet. There was a video of a cat jumping back and forth between roofs; I saved it for her for when she gets back. Ivy says hi and she hopes that Selina gets better soon. And, I think that’s it. Got it?”

 

Bruce hears a pen click on the other side of the line. “Got it, sit,” says Alfred, “I will make sure that your updates are read to her. “

 

“Thanks, Alfred,” he says. He hangs up, smiling.

 

+

 

Gotham’s first snowfall is in late November, and it’s the first time Bruce Wayne realizes what exactly it is that he’s doing every night.

 

He’s with another one of Jeremiah’s goons, a regular one, and the man had been getting mouthy. He’d said something about Selina and Bruce had seen red. He remember hitting the man, he remembered hearing a crack.

 

When he regained control of himself, he saw the damage he’d done. The man was twisted in an inhuman way, still breathing, but barely. His eye was swollen shut, and he was bleeding out onto the snow. Bruce breathed in sharply at the white and red contrast. It was normally dark, normally he couldn’t see what was wrong, but tonight, on the glowing snow, it was crystal clear.

 

He dialed 911 as fast as he could. “He-hello,” he stuttered out, before the operator could even say anything, “there’s a man, he’s hurt really badly. I’m in the alley next to the butcher on seventh. Get here quickly please.”

 

He didn’t remember the journey, but his legs carried him to a familiar apartment. He knocked on the door weakly, and when Captain Gordon opened up and greeted him with a soft “Bruce?” he promptly collapsed.

 

When he came to, the sun was already up. He turns to the alarm clock next to him and sees it’s half past six. He’s wearing pajamas, and he has a blanket draped over him. He walks out of the room he’d been in, and meanders around until he finds Captain Gordon sitting at a table eating breakfast.

 

Captain Gordon nods him over, and he pulls up a seat. Bruce looks at the older man, daring him to break the silence first. He does. “The man we picked up, on fifth. I’m gonna assume that was you.” Bruce didn’t nod, having had this conversation with the man before. Any actual confirmation and Gordon was legally obligated to bring him in.

 

“How do you do it?” Bruce asked, quietly.

 

Gordon put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not easy,” he said, “but you have to set ground rules for yourself. Do you have any of those?” Bruce nodded mutely. “Then you stick to those. You remember them, at all costs. And you make sure you’re doing good in the rest of your life too. You give to charity, you smile at people on the subway, and you remember that what you do, it’s not for you. It’s for them.”

 

 _It’s for them_.

 

Bruce looked at Gordon and smiled, really smiled for the first time in a while. “Thank you, Captain.” Gordon smiled back.

 

The moment ended when Barbara Kean, five months pregnant, walked into the room with a glass of orange juice.

 

She placed the cup by Gordon, and smiled when she saw the boy at the table. “Brucie! So glad you’re here.” His jaw was open, even though he knew it was rude “Let me get you something to eat!” She ruffled his hair, is if she was the Barbara of four years ago. “Waffles okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she quickly shuffled off to a different part of the apartment.

 

Bruce turned towards Gordon, looking for an explanation, and Gordon sighed. “Don’t ask,” he said, “all I can tell you is that I’m going to have full custody.

 

Bruce raised his hands in acceptance. “No judgment from me, Captain.”

 

+

 

He sees Silver again, because of course he does. It works for both of them.

 

The playboy shtick gets a little old without being interspersed with at least a few consistent girls, and it’s easy to hang out with Silver. Without her evil uncle, he found that they got along quite well. It was an easy friendship; they saw each other a few times a week, throw in a quick kiss for the newspapers, and it all worked out.

 

It helped the publicity at Sirens too. The more often he was seen there, the more often people came to try and seduce him away from his, to be fair, fake, long term girlfriend.

 

On this nice Monday morning, mid-December, he and Silver are sitting in a café. It’s a cute little hole in the wall kind of place; the papers have like it when he does the “non-rich” thing: taking her for regular coffee instead of deconstructed, a movie instead of the opera. That sort of thing.

 

Silver doesn’t even drink coffee, so he doesn’t know why he brought her here. Cafés always seem like a good place to talk, though. He finishes talking about Selina and she takes a sip of her hot chocolate. She’s left with a slight whipped cream mustache and he points it out.

 

She smirks at him, her pinkie finger pointing to the left, signaling the paparazzi one table over. She smirks at him playfully, raising an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do about it?”

 

This is where he plays his role, looking at her rakishly before tugging her in for a kiss. He hears the telltale clicks of camera and pretends he doesn’t. They stay like that for a few minutes until he pulls back.

 

He doesn’t feel anything.

 

(Somehow, he knows that she doesn’t either. Not if her girlfriend has anything to say about it.)

 

+

 

One of his jobs, now that Bruce is really running Wayne Industries, is going through all the court cases against his father’s company. Especially stuff that went under the table after his parents died.

 

He’s been settling lawsuits, one by one. It’s not a lot, and if he can’t give the victim (because the company is rarely the victim, even he knows that) a proper court settlement, a generous and very anonymous donation is made directly to their bank account.

 

He comes across the case of Victor Fries. He remembers tat the man tried to kill him a few years ago, after being given and odd version of his own potion.

 

He also remembers that Wayne Industries wouldn’t help his wife.

 

He writes the check and moves onto the next file.

 

+

 

Silver ends their relationship a few days before Christmas, so she can spend it with her girlfriend in the Alps without having to worry too much about the press regimen following her.

 

Bruce spends New Year’s Eve partying, and he’s drunk by the time he stumbles back to the manor, well before midnight. Looking at the grandfather clock that’s collecting dust on his way in, he estimates it to be around ten. He walks in to collapse on the couch, where he finds Ivy and Harleen waiting for him.

 

Ivy holds out a glass of champagne, and he snorts before responding. “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking that?”

 

Ivy smiles in response. “It was gonna be for you, but apparently you need to sober up, not get drunker.” She put the glass back down on the table, but with a quick glance towards Harleen, it was quickly in Bruce’s hand.

 

The three of them sat on the couch for hours, laughing while watching the ball drop only a few miles away. When the clock struck midnight, they were all quiet. Bruce looked down at his lap, before picking up the bottle and pouring himself another glass of champagne.

 

Harleen was asleep on his shoulder. Ivy reached over and put an arm on his shoulder. “I wish she was here too, Bruce.”

 

Bruce’s voice quivered. “I just… I miss her so much, Ivy. I miss her all the time.”

 

“I get it,” said Ivy. “She’s not an easy girl to forget.”

 

+

 

Bruce is beating up one of Jeremiah’s men in an alley towards the end of January. He realizes that he’s tired, when the man laughs.

 

He thinks of Selina’s smiling face.

 

 _It’s for them_.

 

He lands another punch, one to knock out, and begins to drag the man towards the GCPD.

 

+

 

The story, as told to Bruce, is as follows.

 

One day, Captain James Gordon had decided he most definitely wanted children. Years and years ago, he had known he wanted to have a family of his own.

 

More recently, given his track record with his girlfriends turning evil (and no, it doesn’t matter what Detective Bullock said, three is in fact a pattern), he decided being a single father might be the more desirable path for him.

 

So he had remembered that he had saved a specimen of himself before going into the army, which was still under the protection of one Barbara Kean. In exchange for giving him the tools necessary to have his child, there were two conditions; the child would be biologically hers, and it would have to be named after her.

 

When asked why she wanted to be the biological mother of Captain Gordon’s child, Barbara Kean would respond that having an evil parent would give the child good character development.

 

Captain Gordon sighed and agreed to the terms in a legal way, ensuring he would have full custody, so here they were at Barbara Lee Gordon’s baby naming on the morning of Bruce’s birthday.

 

After the service, he wished the father good luck. “Not that you’re going to need it,” said Bruce, “you’ve had plenty of practice dealing with me.”

 

Captain Gordon clapped him on the back as best he could, holding his daughter in the other arm. “Stay out of trouble, Bruce.”

 

“I’ll do the best I can, Jim.”

 

Realizing he called the Captain by his first name, he opened his mouth to apologize. It was something he hadn’t done in a long time, maybe ever, but the man just grinned back at him. “Go home, Bruce.”

 

His ride back to the mansion is short, and he walks into the library and turns on the light.

 

Waiting for him is Selina, holding out a cupcake with a birthday candle on it.

 

His jaw drops and he stares at her for a moment before she stretches her arms and holds the cupcakes out a little further, offering a “Happy birthday?”

 

Bruce doesn’t move, he’s paralyzed, because she’s _here_ , she’s really _here_.

 

Selina shuffles awkwardly, clearly having missed being in the mansion. She puts the cupcake down and clears her throat. “Right, I know Alfred didn’t tell you I was awake, but I told him not to. I wasn’t going to have you worrying about my recovery and physical therapy when you had to a job to do here, okay?”  


He remained quiet still, letting her get a little more agitated. “And clearly,” she continued, “you’ve been doing your work. Batman, Bruce? That’s not a great cover name. You know, on the mainland our heroes have cool names.”

 

His mouth was still open, and now she was really angry. “Bruce, say something for god’s sake, I’ve been gone for months and—“ She was cut off as Bruce quickly surged forward to kiss her, grabbing on to the back of her head, needing tangible proof that she was with him.

 

She was shocked at first, but quickly melted into the kiss, throwing her arms around him and tugging him in close. When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other. “Hi,” Selina said, softly.

 

Bruce smiled back. “Hi.”

 

In an effort to expel the awkwardness, Selina took a step back. “Um, I saw you started things up with Silver again? And I read that it was over, but I do need to know for sure.”

 

He laughed and threw an arm around her. “Come on,” he said, “if I know Alfred, he’s in the kitchen with more cupcakes.”

 

She smiled back at the touch. “Yeah,” she said, “he is.”

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment or kudos to show me you care! holla at me on tumblr [@peturparker](%E2%80%9Cwww.peturparker.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


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